He was drifting into a dreamy wonder that all women with yellow-brown hair should not be given yellow-brown eyes also, and to wishing vaguely that it might be his luck to meet one some time--one who was not married--when she looked down at him quite unexpectedly. He was startled, and half ashamed, and afraid that she might not like what he, had been thinking. She was staring straight into his eyes, and he knew that she was thinking of something that affected her a good deal. “Unless it's a calamity to discover that the world is--what it is, and people in it are--what they are, and that you have been a blind idiot. Is that a calamity, Mr. Cowboy? Or is it a blessing? I've been wondering.” Kent discovered, when he started to speak, that he had run short of breath. “I reckon that depends on how the discovery pans out,” he ventured, after a moment. He was not looking at her then. For some reason, unexplained to himself, he felt that it wasn't right for him to look at her; nor wise; nor quite pleasant in its effect. He did not know exactly what she meant, but he knew very well that she meant something more than to make conversation. “That,” she said, and gave a little sigh--“that takes so long--don't you know? The panning out, as you call it. It's hard to see things very clearly, and to make a decision that you know is going to stand the test, and then--just sit down and fold your hands, because some sordid, petty little reason absolutely prevents your doing anything. I hate waiting for anything. Don't you? When I want to do a thing, I want to do it immediately. These sweet-peas--now I've fixed the trellis for them to climb upon, I resent it because they don't take hold right now. Nasty little things--two inches high, when they should be two yards, and all covered with beautiful blossoms.” [Illustration: “Little woman, listen here,” he said. “You're playing hard luck, and I know it”] “Not the last of April,” he qualified. “Give 'em a fair chance, can't you? They'll make it, all right; things take time.” She laughed surrenderingly, and came and sat down upon the porch near him, and tapped a slipper toe nervously upon the soft, green sod. “Time! Yes--” She threw back her head and smiled at him brightly--and appealingly, it seemed to Kent. “You remember what you told me once--about sheep-herders and _such_ going crazy out here? The _such_ is sometimes ready to agree with you.” She turned her head with a quick impatience. “Such is learning to ride a horse,” she informed him airily. “Such does it on the sly--and she fell off once and skinned her elbow, and she--well, Such hasn't any sidesaddle--but she's learning, 'by granny!'”